


Finding Home

by crochetaway



Series: Drabbles and OneShots [94]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crochetaway/pseuds/crochetaway
Summary: Hermione Granger finds herself homeless on the streets of London. A stranger takes a chance on her, which is all she needs to get her life back on track.





	Finding Home

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N: Many, many, many thanks to the fabulous The Mourning Madam for hosting such a fun and unique fest! This was such a great experience! I also want to thank my beta WasserMama who helped at the last minute to get this thing into ship-shape!**
> 
> **My fairytale was inspired by Fair Maria Wood: https://fairytalez.com/fair-maria-wood/**
> 
> **If you liked this (or hated it) let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff.**

* * *

Hermione had to get out of there. The antiseptic scent of the hospital had invaded her childhood home and the moment the machines stopped beeping steadily and started their continuous alarms, she knew it was over. In all fairness, she knew it was over three weeks ago when the machines and hospital bed made their debut and her mum came home for good. At least she’d had plenty of time to prepare, not that it made it any easier. _Her mum was dead_._ And at only forty-eight_. Hermione’s heart felt like it was in her throat. Her mum was her rock. Her protector. Her savior. Without her, she had to flee.

“Baby,” her dad started the moment the nurses from the hospice had shut the machines off and announced her mother’s time of death.

“No,” Hermione said. Her voice was sharp and cold, but she couldn’t afford to waver now. The nurses glanced between father and daughter and decided to leave the room. Hermione wished they would stay. She could have used the buffer between her and Dad.

“Baby, please. It’ll be alright. Come here,” Richard Granger implored.

Hermione glared at him in disgust. She knew what her dad was. She knew what her mum protected her from. But she also knew what her mum protected him from too. She wasn’t going to take up that position in his life. She had her own life to lead.

She rose from her chair, placing one last kiss on her mum’s forehead. Knowing she wouldn’t be back for the funeral was enough to make a sob escape her throat. Hermione choked a second one back just as her dad’s hands landed heavy on her shoulders.

“No!” she shouted and shrugged out of his grip, practically sprinting across their small sitting room. She ran up the stairs quickly, grabbing her knapsack. She had two changes of clothes, her laptop, all the money she could manage to steal without her dad being aware of it, and her mother’s engagement ring. It had been her grandmother’s before hers and Hermione was unwilling to part with it. The money wasn’t much, a couple of thousand pounds, not enough, but it would do for now. She still didn’t know exactly where she was going, but she knew that she had to go. He wouldn’t leave it alone. She wouldn’t fall victim to him like her mum did. Like countless others had. She was breaking the cycle right now.

Dashing down the stairs, Hermione skidded to a stop as the front door opened and the director of the funeral home was welcomed inside. Her dad gave her one final look over his shoulder as he ushered the director into the sitting room. Hermione made her escape.

She was out the door and down the street in the pouring rain to the bus stop faster than her dad could have followed even if he had been available to do so. She hoped by changing buses a couple of times she could put some distance between them. She had to put some distance between them. London would be preferable. Granger was a common enough name that she was sure she could disappear into the millions of people who lived in the City. The only issue would be finding a place to stay and a job.

University had ended a month ago, with Hermione was two classes away from receiving her degree in sociology. Even with the money she’d taken from her dad, she wouldn’t have enough to cover the final two classes. She’d have to get a job to get the money.

The bus pulled up and Hermione scrambled aboard and out of the rain. She’d take this one almost into London itself until she had to switch to a different one. Then once in London proper, she’d switch a few different times. She had an area in mind, if not an actual destination. The Hogsmeade section of London housed Hogwarts University, where Hermione had spent her undergrad. There was cheap housing there, she knew she could afford. But even more important, plenty of jobs in the restaurants and cafes that catered to the university students. It would just take her a bit to get there. The downside would be that her dad would be sure to check the University. Which was why Hermione planned to take at least one semester off. Maybe even two, depending on how rabid her dad seemed when he started looking for her.

Four hours later, exhausted, still soaking wet, Hermione alighted the seventh bus she’d been on that day in front of the Hog’s Head. It was notorious on campus, but Hermione was there for a different reason. They were always hiring. She’d done some waitressing in the last few years. She figured they’d at least take her on as a cocktail waitress if nothing else.

It was late by the time she arrived in Hogsmeade, the sun, which hadn’t shone most of the day, had set already. The moment Hermione’s feet hit the pavement outside of the club, she could feel the bass of the music from inside deep in her sternum. It was going to be mind-bogglingly loud going in there, but she knew she would feel better if she went to bed knowing she had a job. Although, she didn’t have a place to sleep yet either. She’d get a room at one of the myriad of hotels and motels that dotted Hogsmeade. There would be an opening somewhere, she hoped.

The bouncer gave her a once-over, before nodding her through the door. There was a cover to be paid and Hermione hated parting with some of her precious pounds to pay it, but she needed the job. She gave the woman guarding the till her ten pounds.

“I’d like to speak with the manager,” Hermione shouted to the woman. She looked Hermione up and down, and nodded, holding up a finger indicating Hermione should wait.

Hermione shuffled to the side as a few more patrons entered the establishment. They were men, boys really, from the University she was sure. They laughed obnoxiously, shoving each other in the shoulder as the bounded past Hermione. She grimaced at them.

“You’ll have to get used to _them_ if you want to work here,” the girl shouted over the music to Hermione. Hermione schooled her features and nodded her head.

A few moments later, the best-looking man Hermione had ever seen walked out of the depths of the club and to the hostess stand. He had dark wavy hair, piercing blue eyes, and a day’s stubble on his cheeks that brought his chiseled jaw to the forefront. He was dressed in a dapper navy suit that Hermione knew he didn’t pick off the rack anywhere.

“I’m Tom Riddle,” he announced, holding out his hand for Hermione. She placed her smaller hand in his larger one, noting how warm it was. “Come with me.”

He turned on his heel and led her through the club to a hallway behind the stage. They walked through a heavy door and the moment it closed, the sound of the music decreased almost entirely. Just the sound of the bass thumping could be heard. The hallway was lined with doors that had names on them. Names of the dancers on stage, Hermione was sure. The stage was blocked from where she had stood to wait at the hostess stand and she had studiously avoided looking at it as they walked by. At the end of the hallway was a door that was locked by a keycode. Tom entered a code and pushed the door open, inviting Hermione into the plush office behind.

“Have a seat,” Tom indicated the low couch before the desk. He shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of the chair behind the desk before sitting.

“Thanks for seeing me,” Hermione started. “I know it’s probably not the ideal time. But I was hoping to find a job here.”

“I only have openings for dancers,” Tom replied, eyeing her up and down. “Can you dance?”

Hermione shrugged. “I took competitive dance until I was sixteen.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-four,” Hermione said. “Hermione Granger. I was a student at Hogwarts, but I’ve had some personal stuff come up and I’m taking a few semesters off.”

“Any of that personal stuff going to interfere with a job here? I can’t have your ex-boyfriend coming in to beat up patrons,” Tom warned.

Hermione shook her head. “My mum had cancer. She died.”

Tom tsked. “I’m sorry to hear that. How soon can you start, Hermione?” He pushed a box of tissues forward and Hermione grabbed one thankfully. She hadn’t meant to start crying.

“Tomorrow,” Hermione suggested, finally looking up from her hands to Tom. He was peering at her rather intently and it made Hermione shiver.

“Be here at noon. We’ll discuss your pay and everything else then. This type of work isn’t for everyone. If you try it and find you don’t like it, there won’t be any hard feelings.”

Hermione nodded and thanked him. She hadn’t expected him to escort her back through the club and out to the front door.

“You have someplace to go?” Tom asked, peering at her closely. Hermione hoped it was too dark to see her blush and she nodded. She didn’t, of course, but he was willing to offer her a job, she wasn’t going to take more from him than that.

* * *

Hermione did find a place to stay, an extended-hotel type thing that she could afford for a few weeks, until she could scrape together enough money for the down payment for a flat. Or find a roommate. Judging by the cost of flats in this part of the city, she would need at least one and probably two.

She was well into her second week at the club, dancing the odd hours as the new girl. She worked during the day most often, the noon to four shift, which meant she didn’t make great money, but occasionally a lunch group would come in and tip fairly well.

“Tom, can I speak with you for a moment?” Hermione asked one afternoon. She had just finished her shift and the club was starting to pick up, especially because it was a Friday.

He nodded tightly, and Hermione wondered if he was upset about something. He seemed so cool and unruffled most of the time, but there were times when his cool exterior cracked.

“I was just wondering if I could pick up a few extra shifts. I—”

“No,” Tom cut her off without elaborating.

“It’s just I’m saving for—”

“I don’t care, Granger, I’ve got more dancers than I really need as it is. If someone quits, we can talk then.”

“What about as a waitress. I’ve experie—”

“I can’t have my dancers also waitressing. The patrons would harass you endlessly.”

“Please, can you recons—”

“I said no,” he snapped suddenly. Hermione straightened and nodded.

“Alright. See you tomorrow,” she muttered and left. Four-hour shifts weren’t nearly long enough, it was time to start thinking about getting another job. The problem was, most jobs wanted an address. If she tried to work at another club, it was likely she’d be put on new girl hours again and her shifts would overlap. She had never realized not having a permanent address could hinder her so much. She couldn’t get another job without it, but she couldn’t save for an apartment with the little she was making from her new job.

* * *

Hermione looked at the bashed-in door of her extended stay-hotel. Her jaw was clenched in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

“Real sorry ‘bout that, miss. This is the third room this month this has happened to,” the hotel manager said. “‘S’hard when the doors are open air like this.”

Hermione nodded tightly but didn’t say anything.

“If we could just get a report of what’s missing?” the police officer who had accompanied the hotel manager asked.

“Um, right,” Hermione nodded, clearing her throat. She stepped past the broken door and into the room itself. It wasn’t large, but she could see the closet door with the safe was torn off its hinges and the safe inside missing entirely. “The safe is gone.”

“Anything of particular note in the safe?”

“Just every pound I had,” Hermione muttered. She was thankful at least that she still had her mother’s ring. She wore it on a chain around her neck.

“That’s tough luck, miss,” the hotel manager said. “We’ve got a room down the hall and we can give you one night free, but you’re paid through the week.”

Hermione nodded again, she felt like a bobblehead with how much nodding she’d been doing, but it didn’t matter. With her shitty shift schedule at the club, there was no way she’d have enough money to pay for another week at the hotel. She was well and truly fucked.

* * *

Two weeks later, Hermione had every possession she owned in her knapsack and was huddled into the corner of an abandoned store a few blocks from the Hog’s Head. She didn’t want to be too near the club, in case someone recognized her, but with her money problems, she couldn’t afford to waste it either. A few blocks should give her enough of a buffer. It had so far. She hadn’t yet set out a paper cup, asking for money, but it was a near thing. Thank God, the club had showers. She couldn’t spend hours on end there, but she worked more days than not.

Living on the street wasn’t a permanent solution, it couldn’t be, but until Hermione figured something else out, it’s all she had. She probably could have gone to Tom, but frankly, she was too ashamed.

* * *

A few blocks weren’t enough, Hermione found out a few days later. She kept recognizing patrons and had to turn her head. The paper cup still hadn’t made an appearance and she’d been kicked out of more doorways than she had thought possible. She was used to seeing indigent people on the streets of London, but not usually near Hogsmeade.

“Hey, do I know you?” someone said from above her. Hermione frantically shook her head and ducked her face lower. Tom would surely fire her if some patron from the club found out she was living on the street.

“Yeah, I do,” the voice was closer. “I can help.”

Hermione bit her lip, she could only imagine what sort of ‘help’ a man who knew her from a strip club would offer.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, refusing to look up.

“You don’t look fine. Listen, I’m not a creep—”

“—says every creep,” Hermione whispered.

He laughed and Hermione sighed. He did have a nice laugh. “Alright, well if I can’t convince you of that, perhaps I can take you for a meal?”

Hermione shook her head as her stomach growled. Finally, the man went away and Hermione peeked her head up to look at him. His hair was so blond it was almost white. She thought maybe she recognized him, but couldn’t be sure.

Twenty minutes later, he was back and placed a sandwich on the sidewalk in front of her. He didn’t say anything else and walked away.

Hermione sighed as she ate the sandwich. He probably was a nice person, but she’d been burned a lot in the past and it didn’t hurt to be too careful.

* * *

A few weeks later, her hours were bumped from lunchtime, to just before the evening rush. It wasn’t much better, but on Fridays and Saturdays, she was busier. Actually making money that she could hopefully use to get back into the extended stay. Although, by her calculations, she’d have to be working two weeks straight before she’d saved enough for even a week at the extended stay.

It didn’t matter, Hermione was just thankful to be making more money. Since the clientele was slightly better, Hermione had begun borrowing wigs from the other girls for her sets. It took quite a bit to get all of her hair into a skull cap and they hurt. So badly, in fact, she finally just had one of the other girls cut it all off.

“You sure about this, hun?” Hannah asked, fingering Hermione’s long, heavy locks. “It’s so beautiful.”

“I’m trying to have a real career after this,” Hermione said sadly. “That will never happen if I’m recognized. The world is not kind to former strippers.”

“It’s not kind to current strippers either,” Hannah said with a chuckle. “Alright then. Let’s give you a pixie. I didn’t graduate hair school, but it was a near thing.”

Hannah set to work and the more she cut, the lighter Hermione’s head felt. She didn’t cry at seeing herself with short hair, but maybe one tear escaped. She didn’t want Hannah to think she hated it. She definitely didn’t _hate_ it, but she also didn’t feel like she looked anything like herself.

“It brings out your eyes, makes them look bigger,” Hannah said kindly. “And look at those cheekbones! Hiding behind that mess!”

Hermione smiled, her tears clearing at Hannah’s kind words. “You don’t have an opening for a roommate, do you?”

“‘Fraid not,” Hannah said shaking her head. “I just signed a year-long lease with a couple of the other girls.”

Hermione smiled and nodded, but her heart twisted. She should have tried harder to make friends here. Maybe then she wouldn’t still be living on the street a month and a half later. The only consolation was that she was able to save even more money because that blond stranger dropped her a sandwich almost every day. Stranger was probably the wrong term to use, considering she now recognized him.

He was in the club at least three times a week during her shift. She didn’t know for sure, but he seemed to have some sort of business with Tom. They spoke with each other frequently and it only increased Hermione’s need to use wigs during her performance. She definitely did not want to be recognized by the blond man or anyone else.

That night, she wore a red-haired wig Hannah had just gotten in. It hung all the way to Hermione’s waist, and with her shorter hair, the skull cap was less tight, but the weight of the wig made up for it. She still left the stage the final time that evening with a massive headache.

Hermione was rubbing the spot between her eyes and grimacing as she made her way back to her dressing room when she almost ran right into someone coming the other way.

“Oh, sorry,” Hermione said, startled, and she stepped back to see it was the blond-haired man and almost panicked. But no way he would recognize her with her stage makeup and her wig. At least, she had to hope so. If he found out she was sleeping on the street, he’d tell Tom, then Tom might fire her.

“It’s alright,” he said congenially, sending a heart-stopping grin her way. “You alright? Looks like you’re in pain.”

“Fine, just a long night,” Hermione said with a quick smile and hurried past him, trying to keep her head down. Her heart was in her throat as she slipped inside her dressing room. Pansy, who had the shift after her, was already there getting ready.

“Just going to change, then I’ll get out of your hair,” Hermione said quickly. Pansy was a little prickly.

“Whatever,” Pansy muttered and continued doing her makeup. Hermione sighed, glad that Pansy wasn’t planning to pick a fight and slipped off her wig. She took a makeup wipe out of her kit and hurriedly removed most of her stage makeup. She wouldn’t be able to shower until she came back tomorrow, so she needed to be ‘street ready’. Which meant, in order to not be mistaken for a sex worker, she had to not look like one.

Despite all of the hardships Hermione was facing, one good thing came out of this. She was quickly forming the idea for a thesis for her undergraduate degree. Which wouldn’t happen until she finished her last semester, but getting her degree and moving on to her Ph D. had always been part of the plan. Her area of interest had always focused on feminist sociology and geography, which were fairly diverse, but they intersected in so many ways that Hermione was finding all sorts of parallels when compared to her own position in life. It was really too bad that her laptop was dead and she wasn’t able to use it when on the streets. Instead, she hand wrote all of her ideas and worked on her laptop once a week when she indulged in a cup of coffee so she could sit in a cafe and translate all of her handwritten notes.

Hermione changed into her street clothes and tucked her laptop, her wages, and everything else of value into her locker, locking it tightly and pulled a stocking cap over her hair. She tried to leave everything she could at the club, at least her locker locked and it was unlikely Pansy or whichever new girl got put into their dressing room for the early shift would be able to open it. Especially if they didn’t know all of her life's belongings were tucked away in there.

“Have a good night,” Hermione murmured on her way out of the dressing room, not expecting an answer from Pansy. Her head still hurt, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She shouldered her backpack that was filled with her blankets and pushed her way out of the back door of the club.

She’d found a dead-end ally a few streets away that had become her main sleeping spot. Several other indigents, many of them women, also had staked out this ally. Making it safer for Hermione for sleeping. During the day, she found someplace that had more foot traffic, and thus a higher chance of getting some food. She still hadn’t gotten a paper cup for begging. That didn’t sit right with her, considering she had a job, but if someone dropped off their leftovers, then she would gladly take those. And besides, the blond man came by every day. Like he looked for her specifically before dropping her off a sandwich. Always a different one, from a different shop, but all of them good.

That day, something different happened though. Someone sat down next to her, and Hermione startled to see it was the blond man.

“You don’t beg. Why?” he asked, sliding her the sandwich. Hermione opened it and took a bite.

“I have a job,” Hermione replied. “Seems disingenuous to beg when I have a job that pays me.”

“So you’re homeless by choice?” he asked.

Hermione laughed. “No, obviously. I’m homeless because I’ve run on some tough times. But there are others who have it worse than me. Who don’t have jobs. So I feel bad taking out of their pockets.”

“Your job must not pay you that well.”

“It’s getting better, but it’s expensive to get into an extended stay hotel.”

“Why not crash with friends?”

Hermione snorted. “I don’t have any friends that I trust.”

“You trust me.”

“How do you figure?”

“I could have poisoned you a hundred times over, and yet, you always eat the sandwich I give you.”

Hermione nodded and finished her sandwich. “You’re right, I guess I do trust you not to poison me. Although, if that sandwich,” she indicated the wrapper she was crumpling, “was poisoned, then you’ve trained me like one of Pavlov’s dogs, haven’t you?”

The man laughed. “That hasn’t been my intention. And I didn’t poison you. But if you do trust me, I wonder if you’d allow me to offer you a place to live?”

“Do you still think you know me from somewhere?” Hermione asked with a frown. “I’m not going to lie. Winter is fast approaching and I’m worried I won’t survive it.”

“You do look familiar,” he shrugged, “but I can’t place it. I’m pretty good with names, so maybe you just have a common face.”

Hermione laughed again. “Well, with a comment like that I can be sure you aren’t trying to get into my knickers.”

The blond man reddened and chuckled in his embarrassment. “Draco Malfoy,” he said, thrusting his hand at her.

Hermione eyed him warily. “Hermione Granger,” she replied. “I would possibly consider your offer of a place to stay, based on a few conditions.”

“Name them.”

Hermione appreciated that he didn’t waffle on the fact that she had conditions. It made her trust in him only increase.

“I want my own room. And a key to the flat. I won’t be beholden to you letting me in when I keep non-traditional hours,” Hermione said. “I can pay you rent, probably not market rate, but I can start with £100 a month and we can go from there.”

“I wouldn’t charge you,” Draco argued.

“Then no,” Hermione said. “I may have fallen on hard times, but I won’t burden you.”

Draco frowned at her for a long moment, then directed his gaze back to the street. “Can you truly afford £100 pounds a month?”

Hermione considered. She made £100 on the weekends in tips alone. It would be easy to afford that, while also saving up for school. She could probably even afford a little more.

“I could probably afford more, actually,” she admitted, “but I’m also trying to save up for school. I only have one semester left before graduation.”

“What’s your job?” Draco asked, turning to look at her again. Hermione shook her head.

“Another condition, I’m not going to tell you about my job. Just know that it’s not illegal. What would you charge a roommate to move in with you?” Hermione wasn’t going to let Draco’s charity go to waste. If they came to an agreement, she planned to keep careful track of how much she owed him so she could pay him back.

“I wouldn’t take one in,” Draco said, “I’m rather more well-off than most.”

“But if you had to? What would the market rate at your flat be?”

“Probably £1,000 per month.”

Hermione whistled, that was more than she made in a month. “Do we have a deal? My shift starts soon.”

“Sure, we have a deal. When are you off work? I can show you where my apartment is then.”

Hermione eyed him and pursed her lips. “I’ll meet you right here at nine tonight.”

“Deal,” Draco grinned, sticking his hand out again. Hermione held her breath as she shook his hand. She wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but Draco seemed like a decent enough sort. If his flat was disgusting or too far away, or she got any sort of feeling at all, well, that’s why she’d picked up that pocket knife a few months ago.

* * *

Living with Draco was almost a dream. When he said he was well off, Hermione imagined having his own flat to himself. She hadn’t imagined he’d have a three-bedroom penthouse at the swankiest address in Hogsmeade. He’d cleared the bedroom he used as a library for her, even going so far as to purchase a bed. Hermione added it to her list of what she owed him.

They were almost three months into the arrangement when disaster struck. Hermione wasn’t stupid. At some point, Draco was going to figure out that she worked at his buddy Tom’s club, but she’d hoped that it would be further along into their friendship.

She was in the hallway, making her way back to her dressing room, glad she only had one more set left. She was extra tired today for some reason and just wanted to go home. She’d saved enough to go back for her final semester at school and her first week had just ended. Getting back into the swing of school and a job had definitely taken its toll on Hermione this week. Which was why she had taken off the wig and the skull cap, to ease her headache before her next set.

“Hermione?”

She looked up, caught like a deer in the headlights to see Draco standing just outside of Tom’s office. He had a confused look on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

Hermione gritted her teeth. It was quite obvious, and she didn’t want to listen to a lecture from him. She shouldered past him and opened the door to her dressing room, but before she could close it, he followed her inside.

“You can’t be in here, Draco,” Hermione said quietly, placing the wig on its stand and massaging her temples.

“The fuck I can, I own half this place,” Draco spat.

“Then what is the problem?” Hermione asked.

“I didn’t know you were a whore.” Hermione’s heart thumped hard in her chest, but she gritted her teeth and turned to face him.

“Get out.” She felt calmer than she was, her hands were shaking and a cold sweat had sprung up. She was going to be homeless again. And going to school. This was the worst time for Draco to have found out about this. Somehow, she knew he was going to cause a stink.

“No! Tell me why you’re here. Why are you working for someone like _Riddle_,” Draco spat the name out like it had a bad taste.

“Why are you in business with him? Frankly, it’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business when you’re lying to me!”

“I _never_ lied to you, Draco Malfoy!” Hermione shouted. “I _knew_ you were going to have a problem with this, you just seemed the type, you know? Get out. Please. I have one more set. Then I’ll have my shit gone by morning.”

“Fuck,” Draco muttered, turning his back on her. His hand landed heavily on the doorknob. “You don’t have to leave.”

Hermione laughed. “As if staying there would be tenable after what you think of me. Don’t fucking worry your pretty, over-privileged head about it. I’ll be out by morning.”

Draco didn’t say anything more before slinking out the door. Hermione sat heavily in her makeup chair and placed her head in her hands. What in the hell was she going to do now?

“Is there a problem here, Granger?” Tom asked from behind her. Hermione turned to find him leaning against the doorway.

She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “No problems, Tom.”

“You were living with Malfoy, yes?”

“It’s not a problem,” Hermione said again.

“See that it doesn’t become one,” Tom warned before leaving. He didn’t bother to close the door after himself. Hermione grumbled under her breath as she got up to close it. She had a few more minutes before her set. Barely enough time to calm herself and get back into the right mindset to dance. She needed as many tips as she could get now.

* * *

“Damnit, Hermione! Don’t leave,” Draco said, holding her wrist, stopping her hand from reaching for the front door. She had everything she owned in the knapsack on her back.

“You don’t want to live with a whore,” Hermione said. “So I’ll make sure that you don’t.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, alright! I shouldn’t have called you that. It was inexcusable. Riddle is—”

“I don’t care,” Hermione said. She was calm, but she couldn’t help the tears that leaked from her eyes. “I don’t care about whatever deal you have with Riddle. That’s my job, and right now, I need to find a place to live so that I can finish my last semester in school.”

“You have a place to live,” Draco insisted. “Please, just stay here. Actually, you stay here, and I’ll move out.”

“What?” Hermione asked, turning to face him fully.

“Yes, I’ll move into a hotel or something. You stay here. You deserve this more than I do.”

“Now, you’re being ridiculous,” Hermione said. “It’s your flat. You should stay. It’s quite clear where your feelings lie.”

Draco’s laugh was bitter then. “You have no idea where my feelings lie.”

Hermione’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. Draco swayed closer to her, his eyes bouncing from hers down to her lips. She took a small step back.

“Don’t do something we’ll regret later,” Hermione whispered.

Draco exhaled sharply and strode past her, slamming the door after him. Hermione stood in the entryway of his flat, unsure of what to do now.

When he hadn’t returned for three days, Hermione assumed he went ahead and moved into a hotel. It was stupid, really, but Hermione still didn’t have enough saved to get her own flat, especially having just paid for the last of her tuition. She decided to stay until he came back.

* * *

By the time Hermione was finishing her final semester and getting ready for graduation, she’d moved up to the premier spot at the Hog’s Head. She only worked three nights a week, which afforded her plenty of time to begin applying for doctoral fellowships.

Draco had still not shown his face, though Hermione kept ‘paying’ him, but slipping her rent into an envelope and placing it in a drawer in his desk. She missed him, after all this time, but she wasn’t going to try and track him down. He clearly had his own issues to work through.

After she submitted the last of her applications for her doctoral fellowships, Hermione decided it was time to track Draco down. Her advisor had told her she was basically a shoo-in for the one at Hogwarts University. And even if she didn’t get the Hogwarts one, they all offered housing. She’d even have enough money to quit her job at the Hog’s Head, but now, Hermione quite liked being a dancer. It was freeing, being on the stage, dancing her heart out. Her body had never been in better shape and she enjoyed being able to use it well.

Summoning up the last of her courage, Hermione knocked on Tom’s office door.

“Come in,” he muttered.

Hermione flashed him a smile as she slipped inside and closed the door.

“What can I do for you?” Tom asked, distracted, not looking up from the computer in front of him.

“I was hoping you could help me track down Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said.

That stopped Tom. He looked up at her and lifted one eyebrow. “And what do you want with Malfoy?”

“Well, I’m living in his house, but he hasn’t been back in months. I’m applying for my doctoral fellowships and I’ve been told I’m on the fast track for one of them. Which means I’ll have my housing sorted. I just wanted to thank him and let him know.”

“I can do that for you,” Tom said. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t the first time that Hermione found him attractive, but she shook her head. He was her boss and there were some lines that she would never cross.

“I want to tell him myself,” Hermione insisted. “I never got a phone number for him, and well…”

She bit her lip, looking down at her feet.

Tom sighed, “Fine. I’ll let him know you’d like to talk to him. Anything else? Not going to quit with this doctoral bullshit are you?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “I actually really like it here and well, I may have used my experience here to write my undergraduate thesis. And now that I’m going into my Ph D. program, I’ll want to stay on.”

“Using this place as your own little research lab, is that it? Should I be charging you for that?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Um, I mean, I guess—”

“Chill, Granger,” Tom said, chuckling. “I won’t charge you as long as you keep being the best girl on Thursday nights.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, relieved and slumping slightly against the door. “Thanks again, Tom, for helping me find Draco.”

Tom waved her away and refocused back on his computer, which Hermione took as her cue to leave, so she did.

* * *

Hermione nervously twisted the napkin in her lap. She had received a text from an unknown number, claiming to be Draco and asking to meet her here. But he was late and now she was worried he wasn’t coming at all. She’d checked her mail on her way here and there was quite a thick envelope from Hogwarts University sitting in her bag that she was also dying to open, but she wanted to talk to Draco about it first.

“Sorry, I’m late,” a posh voice said above her and Hermione looked up to see Draco sliding into the booth across from her. Her breath caught, she had forgotten how good looking he was in the months since she’d last seen him.

“It’s alright,” Hermione said quietly. She felt her face redden as he looked her over and she dropped her eyes to the table between them.

“Are you still dancing?” Draco asked. His voice was utterly neutral, and Hermione flicked her gaze up to gauge his reaction, but his face was blank.

“I am,” Hermione replied, her shoulders tensing, waiting for him to get angry. But he didn’t, he just nodded tightly.

“Here,” Hermione said. She shoved a copy of her undergraduate thesis across the table. “I put most of what I owed you on your desk at the flat. I’ll get the rest of it to you soon. I’m hoping to be moved out by the start of the school year.”

“What is this? _Body Economy and the Modern Woman: An intersectional feminist ethnographic study on the role of ecdysiasts in both the liberation and demoralization of low-income women in the United Kingdom_,” Draco read the title of her thesis and looked up. His blank face was replaced by one of confusion.

“I told you I only had one more semester left,” Hermione said. “I majored in Feminist Geography and Sociology. I’m just waiting for Hogwarts University to get back to me about a doctoral fellowship.”

“So you’re a stripper because it helped you write your thesis?” Draco asked, thumbing through the thick stack before him.

Hermione laughed. “I’m a stripper because I like it and it pays well. It’s truly a side benefit that it helped with my undergrad thesis. I didn’t even come up with the idea for it until I’d been working in the club for close to six months.”

“Alright,” Draco said, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I stormed out, that wasn’t… I…”

“It’s alright,” Hermione said. “It honestly might have been for the best. I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship then. I’m not sure I’m ready, even now.”

“I understand,” Draco replied. He reached across the table and took Hermione’s hand in his. “Still I need to apologize. My behavior was atrocious. Please forgive me.”

Hermione smiled, squeezing his hand. “Forgiven.”

* * *

Meeting Draco for lunch set a pattern, they met most days for lunch, when Hermione was able to get away. She was given the fellowship at Hogwarts University and was back living in University housing like she had been her first two years during undergrad. The only difference was that it was a house she shared with a few other doctoral candidates. It was a huge step-down from Draco’s gorgeous flat, but the low-level anxiety Hermione always felt while living there had disappeared entirely upon moving into University housing. She finally felt like she belonged like she wasn’t mooching off of anyone, and it was completely freeing.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Hermione said as she slid into the chair across from Draco. They were at their favorite campus coffee shop because Hermione wasn’t going to be able to make lunch later. She set an envelope of money onto the table. Draco picked it up and tucked it away. They never spoke about her debt, and Hermione wasn’t even sure he bothered opening the envelopes, but each one she gave him helped to lighten the weight that seemed ever-present against her chest.

“So how are classes going?” Draco asked, pushing the drink he’d ordered for her across the table. She grabbed it gratefully and began telling a story her advisor had related earlier in the week.

“Do I get to see you tonight?” Draco asked, after she’d fallen quiet.

Hermione looked up surprised. She knew that Draco had feelings for her beyond friendship, and if she was truthful with herself, she had them too. But after their extremely rocky start, Draco seemed determined to continue their friendship and nothing more. So she had buried her feelings, knowing nothing good could come of them.

“You want to see me tonight?” Hermione asked.

Draco nodded. “A mate of mine has opened a new restaurant over in Diagon Alley. I thought maybe we could go check it out?”

Diagon Alley was a very posh part of London and Hermione had only been there a few times in her life.

“Is this a date?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Do you want it to be?” His voice was practically a whisper and he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. Hermione found his bashfulness adorable.

She nodded, biting her lips together. “Yes. I think I would.”

Draco brightened instantly, beaming at her. “Pick you up at eight then.”

“It’s a date,” Hermione smirked.

* * *

“Sorry, love,” Draco murmured into Hermione’s ear, startling her. She’d been sitting at their table in their coffee shop on campus, waiting for him.

“God, don’t scare me like that!” Hermione said, laughing, even as she held a hand over her rapidly beating heart. She and Draco had been dating for six months, and they were probably the best six months of Hermione’s life. She finally had time to miss her mum, and Jesus, how she missed her. Draco was helping with that, having lost his own mother at a young age too.

Hermione slid Draco’s coffee over to him and watched as he sipped it. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A pumpkin spice latte? Am I a basic white girl now?”

She giggle-snorted at his antics. He’d perfected the valley-girl accent and it never failed to make her laugh. “Nah, but I know how much you like pumpkin spice. It’s the last one,” she said, sliding an envelope across the table.

Draco ignored her last comment, pocketing the envelope. “But you aren’t supposed to tell anyone that,” Draco muttered, talking about the coffee, not the money. Hermione knew it was an act though and slid her foot up his calf.

“I missed you,” Draco said, changing the topic.

“I know. Only a few more days of exams, though then the semester will be over and I’ll have more free time.”

“You know, it would be easier if you moved back in,” Draco said, sending her his best pair of puppy dog eyes. It wasn’t the first time he suggested it, but each time Hermione shook her head. She felt so free, living on her own, not beholden to anyone, that she was loathed to give that up.

“I’m not ready for that,” Hermione said quietly.

“Well, what good am I to you now? You don’t live with me, you don’t owe me anything,” he pouted. Hermione was surprised he brought up the money but relieved that he at least seemed to be joking about it.

“Here,” she pulled a stack of paper out of her bag. “You can proofread my last term paper if you’d like.”

“Really? You sure you want me doing that?” Draco asked, fingering the pile, and reading the title. “More about being a dancer, eh?”

“It’s an interesting topic,” Hermione shrugged. She reached across the table and grasped his hand. “If you want, you can be my boyfriend.”

Draco started and looked up at her. His grey eyes searching hers and Hermione offered him a small smile.

“Thought I already was,” Draco said cockily. “But if you’re offering officially, I’ll accept.”

“Good,” Hermione said. She leaned over and placed a kiss against his lips. He sighed into her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, holding her close as Hermione lost herself in his kiss.

_ **~Fin~** _


End file.
